I couldn’t have planned a trip to Paris without going to the library first. Since I work there, admittedly all it took was a detour to the 914s on the Morrill Memorial Library’s second floor and I was good to go. I’m a travel book junkie. For me, half the fun of going anywhere is to read about it first, then point to the passage in the guidebook and say (to myself), “I’ve been there,” or “I did that,” even if it wasn’t all that great.
I’ve never set foot in Seattle or Siena but I’ve been to the City of Light three times. Three of my four daughters have spent at least a semester there, and three times I’ve crammed my carry-on with travel guides from Fodor, Frommer, and Rick Steves.
Like the card catalog, “Europe on $5 a Day” is history. I searched the Minuteman Library Network holdings and was thrilled to find a modern-day (well, 2006) equivalent, Frommer’s “Paris on $95 a Day,” which I requested through interlibrary loan. The cent symbol next to Hotel Henri IV (read: cheap), centrally located on the same island in the Seine as Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle, clinched it. Although the 87 steps up to the room were brutal and the loofah-like towels painful, at 60-odd euros a night who could complain?
The Hotel Kensington, prefaced with a single $ in Rick Steves’ Paris, had caught my eye while planning a previous trip. While not situated “within Camembert-smelling distance of rue Cler,” this “safe, tidy, village-like pedestrian street,” according to Rick, is “so French that when I step out of my hotel in the morning I feel like I must have been a poodle in a previous life.” And he wasn’t kidding when he added, “Eiffel Tower views for those who ask.” Thanks to Rick, 10 minutes before the hour each night I could stick my head out the window and see the Tower’s sparkling light show. The room was so small I had to step over my suitcase to get to the window, but still.
Guidebooks apparently have their place. After a hailstorm forced us inside our cafe I whipped out my bright yellow copy of Fodor’s to see when Berthillon, “headquarters of the haute couture of ice cream,” was open for dessert. My mortified daughter made me put it away. But what to do about dinner? Bistro or brasserie, steak frites or frogs’ legs, mousse au chocolat or millefeuilles… My companions had a radical idea. Why not simply wander around and pick a place at random? I wanted a restaurant write-up while they wanted to wing it. We compromised, and I found that not always going by the book works too.